


Of Mermen and Emotions

by ThePornFairy



Series: Wash your hands [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePornFairy/pseuds/ThePornFairy
Summary: Merman entrails mean showering together. Apparently.orWash your hands like Stiles washes Derek's abs.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Wash your hands [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656781
Comments: 11
Kudos: 430





	Of Mermen and Emotions

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a meme that said "Wash your hands as if you're washing Jason Momoa" and I thought "Jason... yes... but also, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski."
> 
> This ficlet series was born out of that.

Stiles eyes are huge when Derek turns around, his shirt dropping to the floor. 

“Dude,” Stiles says. “You’re--”

“Yes?”

“Yep, you’re - okay, this is cool. Cool, cool, cool,” Stiles says, his face red. 

Honestly, Derek’s not quite sure what he's supposed to do, but he crowds close and brushes his lips against Stiles’s cheek. 

“Take your shirt off,” he says, voice low, before pulling back. “I’m pretty sure there’s still merman guts on it.”

Stiles makes a face, and gingerly peels it off. Derek’s mouth goes dry, because Stiles is miles of pale skin, slim hips and the slightest hint of pudge where his happy trails fades into the-- oh. The jeans he’s not wearing. 

And now he’s stepping into the tub, naked. 

That’s his butt. 

It’s unblemished, aside from a few moles, and Derek wants to bite it so bad. 

“Coming?” Stiles asks, looking back.

“Not yet,” Derek mutters.

“What?” Stiles jams a wet finger in his ear. “Ew, merman guts.”

Derek shucks his pants and boxers and steps in, pulling the curtain shut behind him. Stiles twists so fast he almost falls over.

“Hoooooly --” His eyes are so wide, making his face look so young.

“I can step out,” Derek says, uncomfortably.

“No! No, no, this is good. Great, even. Everything is peachy!”

Jesus, this guy. Derek kisses him on the lips this time and Stiles gives this surprised squeak before kissing back. He’s all gangly limbs, soft lips and enthusiasm as he presses closer. 

“Turn around, I’ll do your back,” Derek mutters against Stiles lips. 

“Only if I get to do your… everything,” Stiles whispers back.

“Deal.”

Stiles turns quickly, reaching for soap and slicking up his own palms before handing it to Derek. It smells good, even if the bottle has a Star Wars sticker on the front. Of course it does. 

He starts by Stiles shoulders, washing down, down, down, rubbing tense muscles until he’s finally getting his hands all over Stiles’s ass. It’s a good ass. Supple, soft, fitting perfectly into Derek’s hands. 

“F-fuck,” Stiles groans, pushes back, then pulls away. “No, nope. You said I can get my hands all over you and I need to take advantage of that.”

Derek quirks his brow, splaying his sudsy hands wide. Stiles grins.

“One clean werewolf, coming up,” he says. “Oh, _hello._ ”

There’s something absolutely reverent about how Stiles starts at his shoulders, rubbing down each arm in turn, before sliding soapy hands over Derek’s chest, thumbs rubbing his nipples before Stiles hands dip into his pits. Stiles even slows when he gets to Derek’s abs, looking up at Derek with such a look of wonder that Derek briefly thinks he should bolt. Instead he closes his eyes, feeling Stiles fingers trail across the ridges of his abs. They slide over his obliques, slowly up his sides, then back down to his hips, thumbs rubbing circles against his hip bones until Derek releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

He blinks his eyes open, seeing Stiles with wet eyelashes and water dripping down his nose. 

“Thank you,” Stiles says, voice quiet, “for trusting me.”

Honestly, Derek doesn’t know what to do with that either, so he moves leadened arms until he can pull Stiles close. They breathe against each other for a minute, before Stiles shifts and okay, that’s Stiles’s cock bumping into his own. This Derek can do, this is familiar. 

He trails his hand down, intending to close it around Stiles’s cock, but Stiles gently bats his hand away.

“Shh, let me take care of you,” Stiles says and Derek is lost.

The first touch of Stiles’s hand against his cock jolts him, the soap slicking the way for a minute before disappearing down the drain. Stiles smiles, and sinks to his knees.

“I always wanted to do this,” he says, wiping water out of his eyes. 

His lips on Derek’s cock are like fire, his tongue even more so. Stiles nuzzles him, licks him, rubs the head of his cock against his soft tongue and plush lower lip until Derek’s knees go weak and he has to lean back against the cold wall. 

“Stiles,” he says, but it sounds like a plea.

Stiles winks up at him and finally takes him in, his hand closing around what he can’t fit in his mouth. It’s slow, careful, so worshipping that Derek’s eyes tear up and he’s reaching out for Stiles other hand, twining their fingers together and holding on for dear life.

Stiles is moaning around him, rubbing his tongue against spots Derek didn’t even know where that sensitive.

When he comes, it’s with a whine and a shudder, the orgasm coaxed out of him by soft lips and a gentle hand. His come streaks Stiles’s face and the look of it over Stiles’s lips punches through him like a fist. He needs, he needs - he’s on his knees next to Stiles, licking over his lips, into his mouth, hand groping for Stiles cock, swallowing Stiles’s groan when he does. Stiles meets him, kiss for kiss, hands twisting into Derek’s hair as he gasps and groans, fucking up into Derek’s fist as much as Derek’s jerking him off, until Stiles is coming, biting Derek’s lip before his mouth goes slack and he sags forward. 

There’s silence for a while, broken only by Stiles’s panting. 

Then the water runs cold and they have to scramble out. Stiles fights him for the towel, eventually slipping out with it tied around his waist and padding back a minute later with a dry one and some sweatpants and a shirt with the BHPD logo on it. 

They dress between kisses, before Stiles wraps their merman entrails soaked clothes in the wet towels and tucks it under one arm.

“Sandwich?” he says. “I’ll put your clothes in the washer, you can stick around until they’re dry.”

“Food would be good,” Derek says. 

They trudge down stairs, where Stiles stops dead. 

“Stiles,” the Sheriff says from the kitchen table. “Derek.”

It’s only pure self-control that makes him casually nod back, instead of blushing.

“He-eeey, Dad! You’re… home.”

The Sheriff looks around. “So it seems.”

“Uh, we were just… conserving water!”

The Sheriff looks at his son. “Really?”

Derek turns to Stiles and raises an eyebrow.

Stiles nods frantically.

“That’s what we’re going with?” Derek says.

Stiles keeps nodding.

Derek sighs.

“Apparently that’s what we’re going with,” he tells the Sheriff. 

“Alright then.”

“I’m just gonna… go put these in the laundry and not be here, yep,” Stiles says and disappears downstairs, making a racket as he goes.

The Sheriff sighs, shaking his head. “Coffee?”

Derek nods. 

“Thank god I'm 18,” Stiles mutters at the washer in the basement.

Derek closes his eyes for a moment. Dear god.

That’s the idiot he’s in love with. 

…

…

_Oh._

**Author's Note:**

> (Wash your hands.)


End file.
